


Green, Like the Moss on Unturned Stones

by SailorHikarinoMu



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, implied AoKaga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 22:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20015752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorHikarinoMu/pseuds/SailorHikarinoMu
Summary: Takao seems to think Midorima has a chance with Kuroko. Midorima highly doubts this. And yet, he wants so badly for Takao to be right. For now, however, he will pine. Warning: MidoKuro, scheming Takao, M/M, fluff, implied AoKaga.





	Green, Like the Moss on Unturned Stones

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroko no Basuke, nor do I make any profit out of this story, either.
> 
> A/N: A kind reviewer politely asked for MidoKuro. And to that I say, why not? I’m quite endeared to this pairing. So, MidoKuro it is. Here’s to you, Anonymous Reviewer.  
> Enjoy!

"Aomine is a fool. For letting you go," Midorima says on a warm September day, minutes before the start of practice. "He never deserved you," he then adds in a whisper, so softly Kuroko knows he is not meant to hear it.

A gentle breeze ruffles through the trees, dislodging leaves and flower petals from their stems.

The aforementioned spectacle of nature serves as a momentary distraction, until:

"Do you think that you, instead, are more deserving of me?"

The question goes unanswered, Midorima acting the part. The blush creeping to the tips of his ears is what gives him away, though Kuroko chooses to ignore it; Midorima is secretly grateful.

Wordlessly, they head to the gym, where the rest of the Miracles (minus Aomine and Murasakibara) are waiting for them.

The start of their first year of high school seems to be right around the corner. Talks about who will be going where are practically nonexistent, though; so long as they end up on separate teams, there will be no issue.

Midorima, reticent as he is, surprisingly breaks through the silence first: "Have you reconsidered my offer?"

Kuroko turns towards his interlocutor, feigning innocence even as green eyes regard him keenly from behind square-rimmed glasses. "Offer? I'm afraid I do not recall, Midorima-kun."

It takes a significant amount of willpower on Midorima's end to not simply lash out at his teammate and call him out on his deceit. "Shūtoku. You should enroll there with me. Together, you and I would revolutionize the world of high school basketball."

 _'Say yes. Say yes. Say yes_ ,' the green-haired shooter is inwardly chanting, a fervent prayer that – he figures – can perhaps sway fate in his favor.

(Because sometimes, only sometimes, fate is merciful to the lovesick and forlorn.)

"I see," Kuroko begins. Unlike the first time Midorima approached him (with brochures and pamphlets and registration forms and empty reassurances that things would go back to the way they once were) Kuroko decides to cut to the chase and answer the seemingly pressing question. He foregoes the niceties, instead choosing to immediately shoot Midorima's proposal down - cordially, of course. "I apologize, but I will have to decline. I... have other plans."

Midorima is quick to hide his disappointment, lest the phantom player realize how truly desperate he has come to be.

"Ah," he answers simply, for lack of anything better. Inwardly, he prepared himself for the clear rejection, but a part of him still harbored hope.

This is no longer the case.

He, unlike Aomine and the rest, realizes they have ruined whatever chance they had of keeping Kuroko by their side. Like them, Kuroko is bitter, jaded, but beyond all else _tired_.

He is tired of the Miracles' utter rejection of teamwork.

He is tired of how they treat opposing teams.

He is tired of the way they treat each other.

He is tired of _basketball_ , the once sport of his heart, his once most beautiful dream.

He hates it now that it has become a nightmare, the object of his ire. And this grim new reality is entirely their fault. They single-handedly ruined basketball for their sixth man. They sullied Kuroko's idea of it, took out everything that made it a wonderful sport and twisted it into something vile and ugly. An abomination. It is unfortunate, but there is no going back, no matter how one might wish otherwise.

It is with these thoughts in mind that they step foot into the first string gym, the situation at hand weighing heavily on their hearts.

* * *

It is in the rain, a short eternity after their third consecutive championship win, when Midorima makes yet another attempt to convince Kuroko (after days spent trying to find the Misdirection user, that is). “Stop this nonsense, Kuroko. Shūtoku would be much better suited for your kind of talent. Not some unknown school like Seirin. We –” ‘ _I,’_ he almost blurts _,_ “– would be able to bring out your full potential. Such an inexperienced, amateur team will not know what to do with you. Your talent will be wasted there."

 _'Come. Come with me. Say you'll stay with me, by my side. Always,_ ’ is what Midorima’s heart cries out, though his lips remain resolutely pressed together.

They are both drenched to the marrow of their bones, shivering as the previous drizzle gives way to a sudden downpour.

With a slow, solemn shake of his head, Kuroko turns him down once more. He then bows, bidding him goodbye, and leaves for home.

There is nothing left to be said.

Midorima bitterly realizes this, and abruptly sneezes.

…

Later, in the private of his room, he sneezes twice more as tears finally breach his eyes, unbidden.

* * *

The next time Midorima sees Kuroko is during Seirin and Kaijō’s practice game.

Inconspicuous as can be, he watches Kuroko’s new teammates with a critical eye, and proceeds to scoff. He is not impressed by what he sees. The fact that Kuroko chose this no-name school over the prestigious Shūtoku – over him – is a disgrace.

He entertains the notion that, perhaps, Kuroko will soon come to his senses and realize this for himself. He prepares himself for what will surely be a short wait.

* * *

A year passes.

Better yet, Seirin wins the Winter Cup. Kuroko seems happier than ever, and Midorima is quick to squash the jealousy taking root within him.

Envy merely takes its place.

* * *

It is cold outside, but refreshingly so. It will soon be Spring, nearly the start of their second year of high school, and Kuroko is just on his way home from the local basketball court when he is intercepted by a familiar rickshaw.

“Kuroko!” Takao shouts, panting from exertion. He is alone, Midorima nowhere in sight.

“Takao-kun? Good evening,” the phantom player greets politely.

“Stop it! Stop hurting Shin-chan. You may not know that you're doing it, but you are.” Takao is breathing heavily still, but his sharp gaze is accusatory.

It is curious, Kuroko muses, how Tokyo is a large city filled with millions of people, yet he always seems to happen upon familiar faces at the most unexpected of times.

Back to the situation at hand, Kuroko stares at the one person who can always see him, tilting his head inquiringly. “Hurting him? How am I hurting him, Takao-kun? I have been treating him as respectfully as I always have.”

“And that, Kuroko, is the problem. Now to answer your question, it is up to you to find out, and for Shin-chan to own up to. The both of you have much to talk about.”

Kuroko opens his mouth to retort when Takao interrupts him:

“You don’t owe him anything. I know. But Kuroko,” his face turns pleading, shocking Kuroko into silence from having never seen Takao wear such an expression, “please talk to him. He’s miserable. I could see it. I’m not blind, far from it, as you know. But even to those who don’t hang around him as much as I do, it’s obvious that Shin-chan is emotionally handicapped. He keeps all his feelings bottled up until he’s bursting at the seams. And right now, he’s just about to burst.”

Kuroko’s lips are stretched into a thin line, pensive. “I’m afraid I’m not all that good with cheering people up, apart from Momoi-san. Besides, he and I never quite got along.”

“On the contrary!” Takao exclaims, “You’re exactly who he needs. He longs for you like a Romeo longs for his Juliet.”

Kuroko blanches at the analogy, more so at what it entails. “P-pardon?” When Takao merely sends him a knowing look, Kuroko acquiesces, still somewhat confused, “I suppose I’ll think about it, then.”

“And that,” the Shūtoku starter responds in kind, “is all I ask.”

* * *

Takao Kazunari is not one to be worried. But he is now, and has been for the past several months.

For the second year in a row, he shares homeroom alongside Midorima. As opposed to the previous year, the green-haired Miracle now sits directly in front of him.

This new seating arrangement provides Takao with an idea as to how Midorima might be feeling. He can see the way the normally immovable shooting guard twitches every so often in his chair, head turned slightly to the side, towards the clock hanging by the door at the front of the classroom. With how tightly he is clenching his pencil, Takao deduces Midorima is counting down the seconds until class is over.

For as long as the pair have attended classes together, Takao has never seen Midorima in such a deep state of distraction.

Midorima has changed, it seems, and Takao knows exactly why this is the case.

In exactly two hours time, they have an exhibition game.

Against Tōō Academy.

The team that acquired Aomine, Kuroko’s past Light, and the one that has decidedly grown the closest to Kuroko out of the five Miracles ever since Seirin emerged victorious at the last Winter Cup.

There is no telling whether Aomine will deign to show up, as it is merely a practice match with no real importance as to each team’s standing.

And yet, if Midorima’s fidgeting is anything to go by, Takao has a gut feeling the next few hours will unveil many surprises.

After all, if Midorima has changed, then so definitely has Aomine.

* * *

Tōō proves to be ruthless.

That is expected.

Aomine is not one to mince his words.

That, too, is expected.

What is not expected is the way he casually invites Midorima to hang out seconds after the final buzzer announces the end of the fourth quarter.

(“For old times’ sake”, Aomine readily explains when faced with Midorima’s questioning stare.)

Reluctantly, Midorima agrees.

…

It is shortly after the game. Not surprisingly, Tōō came out the victor, Aomine being a poor match up for the kind of player Midorima is.

Yet, true to their words, both Midorima and Aomine (Midorima insisted Takao leave for home on his own, Aomine having done the same with a pouting Momoi) find themselves together, walking towards the nearest convenience store.

Convenience stores are, indeed, convenient. They conveniently sell popsicles all year round.

Midorima purchases an orange-flavored popsicle (“Like your carrot jersey”, Aomine comments with a dumb grin), whilst Aomine favors a blue one (“Like your blueberry hair,” Midorima retorts without missing a beat, for once uncharacteristically childish).

It is a rare occurrence for them, to be alone like this, just the two of them, but they nevertheless enjoy a companionable silence.

That is, until Aomine mentions Kuroko in passing:

“Tetsu’s getting better at shooting. He has the potential to start making three-pointers, if he keeps progressing the way he has.” The remark is said casually, his blue eyes glazed over in thought. “Not that I’m an expert in shooting threes, though. That’s your turf,” he adds, tone nonchalant.

It irks Midorima, to hear this sort of thing coming out of Aomine’s mouth. “So, I take it you’ve been helping him improve his shooting.”

“Yup! At first, Tetsu asked me to train him in order to beat Murasakibara and the rest. But now, it’s just a thing we do. It’s the least I could do for what he and Kagami did for me. They gave it back to me, you know, my love for basketball. I finally found someone I could play against on equal footing.” He then looks skyward, blue eyes unfocused as he reminisces. “Tetsu proved me wrong, and I couldn’t be happier. Through him, I found my soulmate.”

That catches Midorima’s interest, “Do you believe in destiny, Aomine?”

“Funny you should ask that. I asked Satsuki the same thing a while back.” He chuckles, lips and teeth and tongue now stained blue, “She thought I was crazy, even checked if I had a fever.”

“And? Do you?”

The Tōō ace shrugs, throwing out what is left of his popsicle (a stick with the words ‘Sorry. Better luck next time!’ inked on one side) in the trash bin by the road. “I guess. My life has changed since I’ve met Kagami. I know it sounds pretty farfetched, but sometimes it feels like we were meant to cross paths. Like he’s my fated rival, the other half of the puzzle, y’know?” By this point, a blush is slowly creeping over his cheeks and neck.

“I see,” Midorima says simply, wrapping his own stick in its original wrapper before pocketing it. (The word ‘WINNER’ is imprinted onto it in bold, dark lettering.)

“Don’t ever tell Kagami I said that. It’ll get to his overinflated head.”

“I won’t,” he promises. Secretly, he is relieved to see how seemingly taken Aomine is with Kagami; it puts things into perspective.

“Anyways, it was nice and all, hanging out like this, but I should get going. See ya around, Midorima.” He is about to wave when Midorima stops him in his tracks.

“Wait!” When wide blue eyes meet green, the Shūtoku player coughs, embarrassed by such an outburst. “I…T-that is to say, thank you.”

“Huh? What for?” Aomine is already standing ways away, hands in his pockets and foot tapping the sidewalk impatiently.

“For this. I needed it.”

The confusion lingers in Aomine’s eyes, but he does not prod his former teammate further. “Sure. No problem.” With a handful of strides, he turns at the nearest street corner and is soon after gone from sight.

Midorima, on the other hand, remains rooted in place long after Aomine has departed. He lets out a long, deep breath. It feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Amazing, what a simple exchange with an old teammate can do. Mind at ease, he then sets off for his own house.

Whilst walking, Aomine’s words concerning Kuroko replay in his mind. He wonders if Kuroko will soon be coming to him for extra training.

Unlike his last year at Teikō, he dares not hope.

* * *

When Kuroko finally approaches Midorima, nearly a week later, it is not because the former is asking for lessons.

It is because of the mutt he has adopted as his own. The same mutt that, of all places, dared do his business in the rickshaw the previous year.

(Suffice to say, both Midorima and Takao spent hours scrubbing every inch of it upon discovering the highly unpleasant surprise.)

Nigou, as the furball is called, apparently decides it wants another go at angering Midorima.

It is shortly after school, a day devoid of basketball practice, when this happens.

Midorima is running errands for his parents when he stumbles upon it, that good-for-nothing dog Kuroko insists on keeping as Seirin’s mascot.

At first, he merely ignores it, walking by with no further regard for the animal.

Until he notices it following him, that is.

Now, Midorima is not, and has never been, one for dogs (although cats are infinitely worse). Therefore, in that moment, he is clueless as to how to deal with it, and ponders. What could it possibly want? Why is it still trailing behind him? Does the dog somehow sense his master nearby and is trotting in the same direction as Midorima by coincidence?

Midorima allows himself the time to stop and simply take in his surroundings. He is a good distance away from both home and school. There are no public basketball courts nearby that he knows of. Even Seirin is ways away.

So then why…?

His answer comes in the form of a sudden phone call.

He shifts the grocery bags he is holding to one arm, and slips his phone out of his pants pocket. “Yes?” he answers sharply, tone harsher than he intends it to be.

“Midorima-kun, hello. Sorry to be disturbing you.”

Midorima is nearly left speechless. “Kuroko? Is something the matter?” It is rare for the phantom player to be calling him.

“Midorima-kun,” Kuroko sounds desperate, so very unlike him. “I need to ask you, have you seen my dog? I lost sight of him shortly after practice. One of my teammates left the gym door open by accident, and he escaped. We have all been searching for him ever since.”

Midorima turns to the dog by his feet, now sitting on its haunches. Nigou is looking up at him with its tongue sticking out and tail wagging excitedly, as if it knows who is on the other line.

Midorima sighs, pushing up his glasses by the same occasion. “Your pet is with me. It is safe and sound, so do not fret further. It started following me while I was running errands for my parents.” Direct and straight to the point.

Relief is evident in Kuroko’s voice when he speaks next, “Is that so? Thank you, Midorima-kun. May I ask where you are? I will come retrieve him as soon as I can. Also, I am terribly sorry for inconveniencing you.”

“It is not a problem. And there is no need for you to come all this way. As it is, I am now on my way home. Your house is on the way. Would you like me to drop it off there?”

“Nigou is not an ‘it’, but a ‘he’, Midorima-kun.”

The Shūtoku ace refrains from rolling his eyes. “That does not answer my question, Kuroko.”

“If it is more convenient for you, then I will head home to wait. Goodbye for now, Midorima-kun. Thank you, again.” The other line promptly goes dead.

Midorima presses ‘end call’, tucking his flip phone back into his uniform pocket.

He looks back to the dog waiting patiently at his feet, and makes his decision. He bends down to pick it up, and settles it in the crook of the arm carrying the least amount of grocery bags.

He certainly likes the mutt a great deal more now.

* * *

“Thank you, Midorima-kun,” are the first words to exit Kuroko’s mouth upon meeting Midorima at his doorstep.

“It’s nothing,” the green-haired shooter answers easily, inwardly brimming with elation that he could be of service. It is with reluctance that he posits Nigou into its owner’s awaiting arms, thinking that the phantom player will merely dismiss him once the dog is returned.

Kuroko, on the other hand, never ceases to amaze him; this very moment is no exception.

“Midorima-kun, I was just making tea. Would you like to come in?”

Indeed, Kuroko will never cease to amaze him.

It is with a rare smile that Midorima humbly accepts, “I see no reason not to. Thank you for inviting me.”

* * *

Things do not change considerably after that.

Midorima goes back to his life, and Kuroko to his, and that is that.

Takao, meanwhile, is wondering what is taking Kuroko so long. With the exception of that one day sometime ago where Midorima came to school positively glowing (Midorima refusing to say why despite Takao’s constant probing and prodding), his teammate is not growing any happier. Quite the opposite, in fact; Midorima’s mood seems to be on the decline as days go by.

The change is infinitesimally small, but Takao certainly sees it. Midorima sighs more, now. He daydreams more, now. He is simply more distracted, now.

His grades are not slipping, at least. Though, that is but a small blessing.

During practice, Midorima is sometimes unable to shoot straight, mind too preoccupied with unrelated matters rather than the task at hand. It is alarming, but only a handful of team members (mostly the starting line) and their coach take notice.

Another thing they notice is Midorima’s newfound appreciation for dogs. Before anyone can chance a question, Midorima (in all his Tsundere glory) sends them a pointed glare that leaves the words itching to be spoken shrivelled up and dead in their throats.

The team subsequently makes a unanimous decision: they will never attempt asking again.

* * *

“Kuroko? _Our_ Kuroko!?” Blue eyes are nearly bulging out of their sockets. “He invited you _into his house_ and you didn’t even have to _ask_? What the actual fuck? What kind of bullshit is that? Granted, you brought his dog back. But, still. My mind is blown.” The expression on Aomine’s face matches his last line perfectly. A furrow then mars his features, tone of voice sullen, “He never invited _me_ to his house.”

Midorima harrumphs, slender finger pressing the bridge of his glasses higher on his nose. “Kuroko is not the type to invite boorish, uncultured individuals such as yourself into his family home. Unlike you, his not inviting you does not surprise me in the slightest.”

“Tch. Brutally honest as always, aren’t you, Midorima.” Aomine rolls his eyes. “And so what, really? He still chose _me_ as his Light. Not Akashi, not Kise, not Murasakibara, and definitely not you, no matter how much you wanted things to be different.”

“Excuse me?” Before Midorima can properly begin to rant, Aomine is quick to cut him off.

“It’s all a matter of syllogism,” he says, waving the air as if it is obvious.

“Syllogism? Isn’t that too big a word for the likes of you, Aomine?” He gibes, aiming to hurt Aomine just as the latter’s previous words hurt him. It is childish, yes, but Midorima cannot bring himself to care.

Aomine, unfortunately, seems entirely unaffected. “Say what you want, but I’m no dummy.”

“Your grades suggest otherwise.”

“Shut it, carrot. I ain’t no book-smart nerd like you. I’m _street_ -smart,” he preens, a hand on his chest.

Green eyes twitch at the less than desirable nickname, yet Midorima chooses to remain mum.

“ _Anyways_ , as I was saying, it’s a matter of syllogism.”

The Shūtoku ace scoffs. “Do you even know what that means.”

“Tch. Obviously.”

“Then define it, since you are so confident.”

“Just ‘cause I know what it means, doesn’t mean I know how to explain it in words. That’s what dictionaries are for.”

Aomine, Midorima thinks, is utterly hopeless.

“This conversation is pointless,” he suddenly decides aloud. “I’m leaving.”

‘ _Really, why did he even suggest we meet again to begin with? What a waste of time_ ,’ he inwardly grouses.

Aomine, evidently, is not on the same page. “Hey, wait a sec. How about a one-on-one?”

To say Midorima is stunned would be a gruesome understatement; nothing Aomine has done has ever stunned him quite like this. “Never, not once, have you asked _me_ for a one-on-one.”

“Well yeah, ‘cause you’ve always been so damn prissy.” Before Midorima can take offense, Aomine’s features soften as he resumes, “But you’re different now. Something’s changed. That stick isn’t as far up your ass as it used to be.”

Midorima raises a slender eyebrow quizzically. “I see you still have a way with words.”

The power forward grins, “S’part of my charm.”

Midorima adjusts his glasses, hiding his own grin by the same occasion. He neither confirms nor denies it.

The one-on-one that ensues is not nearly as exciting as Midorima playing against Akashi, or Aomine versus Kagami or Kise. Yet, they enjoy themselves immensely. From thereon, they promise to make this a regular occurrence between them.

Winner has to treat the other to popsicles.

* * *

It is on the following Tuesday, sometime after practice, when Takao takes the metaphorical bull by the horns. That is to say, he confronts his stubborn teammate into admitting the reason behind his incertitude:

“When are you going to finally man up and make a move?”

“Move? Takao, I do not under–”

“What are you waiting for?”

“Excuse me?”

“Kuroko. I know about your feelings for him.” When green eyes widen in fear, Takao is quick to reassure him, “He seems to be oblivious. But you can’t fool me, Shin-chan! So, tell me. What’s taking you so long?”

Midorima takes a moment to slide his glasses up the bridge of his nose, steeling himself for what is undoubtedly an uncomfortable topic of conversation. “I am not, nor have I ever been, a risktaker. I see no point in taking chances when I am uncertain of the outcome.”

“I get what you mean. You treat your personal life just as you do basketball. But you forget what’s on the flipside; you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take. Admit it, you’re just a big ol’ scaredy-cat crushing on a dude that’s half your size.”

Midorima frowns. “Kuroko is not a mere ‘dude’. I respect him. Also, he is self-conscious about his height. He does not take it nearly as badly as Akashi, of course, but still. I would recommend you avoid mentioning it when he is in our general vicinity.”

Takao hums impassively, until a smirk takes residence upon his lips. “So then tell me, when did this respect turn into love? I’m just dying to know all the itty gritty details. So, spill already! I’m all ears.”

Midorima’s frown only deepens. “Enough, Takao. That is none of your concern.”

“Aww, Shin-chan. So stingy!” Takao laughs it off, patting his teammate on the back. While teasing Midorima for his lack of denial would be fun, Takao decides to make his stance clear. “I’m just trying to help you, ya know. No need to be shy. I don’t like seeing you so sad.”

“I am not sad. Just…”

Takao eyes him skeptically. “Just what? Heartbroken? Depressed? Anguished? Miserable? C’mon, Shin-chan. Sometimes, you just hafta bypass fate and take matters into your own hands.”

The shooting guard scoffs, decidedly unconvinced. “Doing so would be useless. He does not see me in that way. Nor do I think he ever will.”

It is Takao’s turn to frown as he asks, “What makes you say that?”

The former Teikō player sighs, anchoring his gaze to the floor while admitting, “I hurt him. We all did. He has forgiven us, but he may still be holding a grudge. I have never been sure what goes on inside that head of his. He has become a mystery to all of us.”

“I think you give him too little credit,” Takao begins, pensive. “He went out of his way to rescue the lot of you. He never treated you as monsters like so many others did. From what I’ve gathered, he’s got a kind heart, and the kind of resolve that could move mountains. So, who knows? He might just surprise you one day.”

Midorima says nothing in turn. He so badly wants Takao to be right.

* * *

Kuroko never does ask him for lessons on how to shoot successful three-pointers, but he does invite Midorima to his house again.

“It is not because Nigou is lost, like the last time,” Kuroko explains. “It is because that is what friends do, right? Inviting each other over and spending time together. I consider you a somewhat close friend, after all.”

Midorima raises one green eyebrow, yet ultimately nods wordlessly.

‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,’ as they say.

Who is he to take an occasion such as this for granted?

“Is that today’s lucky item?”

Midorima glances at the bouquet of gardenias in his hands, and inwardly curses Takao for suggesting the idea.

(“It’ll be fine,” he said. “Kuroko will love them,” he said.)

“No. These are for you,” he all but thrusts the bouquet onto the phantom player’s chest, leaving the recipient scrambling to grasp it. “For inviting me,” Midorima mumbles before the other can ask. “I figured flowers would be the optimal way of conveying my thanks.”

“I see,” Kuroko answers ambiguously. “I appreciate it. These are lovely.” He proceeds to step sideways in an inviting gesture, “Please feel free to come in and make yourself comfortable while I look for a vase.”

Midorima does just that, toeing off his shoes and heading towards where he remembers the living room to be.

Just as he is settling in, Kuroko appears beside him with a tray of pastries and tea. He sets the tray on the low coffee table by their feet, before seating himself on the loveseat to Midorima’s left.

“Since I was expecting your arrival and know that you are always punctual unlike other people,” Midorima understands that to be a jab at Aomine’s notorious tardiness, “I took the liberty of preparing some tea. Is peach apricot alright with you?”

Midorima has always been one for bitter teas, but nods regardless. He is willing to say yes to anything so long as Kuroko keeps inviting him like this.

No one else. There is no one else in all the world who has visited the phantom player’s home like this. He wants this to mean something – _anything_ – but chooses not to delude himself. Besides, Midorima himself is not one to mindlessly invite just anyone into his family home either.

“Thank you,” he murmurs instead. Kuroko does not need to know he is thanking him for more than just the tray of tea and pastries.

“You’re very welcome, Midorima-kun. I purchased these from a _pâtisserie_ –” Kuroko fumbles upon pronouncing the foreign word, oblivious to the way Midorima’s heart stutters in response, “ – Murasakibara-kun recommended to me. He said they have vanilla cream cakes he thought I might like.”

“The both of you have always gotten along when it comes to anything outside of basketball,” is all Midorima can think to answer. He wonders if Kuroko and Murasakibara speak to each other often, despite the latter living in Akita.

Silence then settles around them, taking with it all sense of camaraderie and leaving mere awkwardness in its place.

They have much to talk about, and they both realize this.

Midorima is the one to bring an end to the uncomfortable tension first, tired of waiting and tired of these troublesome feelings which have plagued him for far too long.

“Kuroko… tell me. What do you think of me?”

He wants – _needs_ – to know, once and for all…

“What I think of you? Hmm…” Sky blue eyes flutter shut as Kuroko thinks of an appropriate response. It only takes a moment before blue meets green once more, Midorima secretly taken aback by the sheer intensity he sees there. “I’ve always liked your hands. You have long, slender fingers, like a pianist. I think Midorima-kun would create beautiful music with those hands.”

The green-haired Miracle merely gulps, eager for more. His expectant gaze silently urges Kuroko on.

He omits telling Kuroko that he does, indeed, play the piano.

“Of course, nothing about you is particularly feminine, well with the exception of your eyelashes. They are long, and lush, proud like peacock plumage. From my perspective, you are more beautiful than even Kise-kun.”

Midorima is blushing heavily now, unconsciously picking at the tape on his fingers. “You always have been startlingly blunt, Kuroko.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Kuroko tilts his head to the side, unknowingly causing Midorima’s poor lovesick heart to beat erratically.

Midorima shakes his head in the negative. “It is refreshing, rather.”

‘ _It is one of the many things I love about you_ ,’ goes unsaid. Even there, Midorima is much too proud and embarrassed to ever admit such a thing aloud.

“I see. Then perhaps this, as well, will be refreshing to you.” Kuroko stands from his seated position, and slowly makes his way to Midorima.

Neither point out how, with Midorima sitting and Kuroko standing, they are at eye level.

Slowly, almost reverently, Kuroko cups the other’s cheeks. “I rejected you, back at Teikō,” he states plainly, iceberg bottom eyes studying Midorima. He does not miss the slight twitch made by Midorima’s lips. “And yet, you never quite gave up on your feelings for me, did you.” It is not a question, only the truth. “Why is that?”

It takes a short while, but when it comes, it is nothing more than a feeble whisper. After all, Midorima is sick of waiting. There is no use denying nor hiding it any longer. “Because it’s you. In all the world, you are the most precious to me.”

This honesty is indicative of something, Kuroko thinks. Midorima is tired of this war between his heart and mind. He only wants release, deliverance, and Kuroko is more than willing to provide it to him. “I’m sorry it took me this long. But, in the very least, I hope this can make up for it.”

Before Midorima can even express his confusion, Kuroko’s lips meet with his.

It is chaste, and innocent, yet utterly surreal. Midorima feels like a starving man being presented with a delicious feast. Kuroko does not smell or taste of anything in particular, and yet the kiss is intoxicating. It is everything Midorima wanted and more. His heart feels full, and the whirlwind of emotion leaves him breathless.

When Kuroko deepens the kiss, Midorima is overcome with want. He touches Kuroko, the lordotic curve of his back, along his spine, to the nape of his neck. Pianist fingers are soon sinking into light blue strands, and Midorima inwardly jubilates at how silky Kuroko’s hair feels to the touch.

When they part at last, they do it slowly, Midorima caressing Kuroko’s lips with his thumb whilst Kuroko silently gazes on.

Midorima swiftly quells the embarrassment he feels forming in the pit of his stomach, too love drunk to care about such things as propriety and self-control.

They are happy, and in that moment, that is all that matters.

* * *

Later, when their hearts slow and their breathing evens, Midorima chances a question:

“How long have you known about…” the embarrassment he previously suppressed returns with a vengeance. He waves his hand in the hopes Kuroko will understand what he is trying to communicate.

“I am not the one who figured it out. I was merely nudged in the right direction.” Kuroko lets out a quiet huff of frustration, “I pride myself on my observational skills, yet I cannot always tell what you are thinking. It frustrates me, at times, but I have since deduced that it is better this way. I am not Kagami-kun or Aomine-kun, but I, too, enjoy a challenge every now and then.” He then looks to Midorima, a glint of amusement shining in morning sky eyes as he shifts closer to him on the shared sofa. “Besides, you gifted me with gardenias. In the language of flowers, they symbolize secret love and purity. They are often used in wedding bouquets. Takao certainly did his research.”

“I,” Midorima struggles with the words, shock and confusion clouding his mind alongside rapidly growing mortification, “How?”

“You mean to ask how I know this is all Takao’s doing? Well, it’s simple. You would never think of presenting someone with flowers on your own. Takao knows about your feelings, and is an outgoing individual. It is only logical he persuaded you into buying me flowers, gardenias no less.”

Midorima quickly pours himself a cup of tea, eagerly drinking the warm beverage with the intent of calming his frazzled nerves. Denial is useless at this point. Instead, he swallows his pride, and grudgingly nods his assent.

“Midorima-kun, you asked me before what I thought of you.” Kuroko’s face is devoid of expression as per usual, yet his eyes convey absolute honesty. “I think you are a wonderful person, with a kind heart and a gentle soul. You have your set of peculiarities, yes, but so does everyone. And I would very much like to enter a relationship with you. I am truly sorry if I hurt you in the past, but I am willing to rectify that if you choose to give me the chance.”

Midorima is seized with emotion. It is like his heart is being assaulted by a myriad of feelings, and this overabundance of fondness and love is nearly unbearable.

He almost chokes on air.

And so, he takes a slow, deep breath in.

He has not felt this content, this free, in a long while. This new development will take some getting used to, not that he feels like this is a problem. Quite the contrary.

Once he calms himself for what must be the umpteenth time that day, he smiles. It is a smile full of hope, and love, and it is all for Kuroko.

“Always be mine, Kuroko. Never let me go. In return, I will be faithfully yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

He acknowledges that this sort of confession, while touching and perfectly accurate, is a tad much. He cannot help it, though. He is, and has always been, overly mature for his age. He has also been harboring these feelings for nearly three years, now. He cannot explain in words, just how good it feels to finally express himself out loud, to Kuroko no less. It is liberating, and he will not let his pride get in the way of his happiness.

And so he kisses Kuroko, his first and only love, like he is the focal point of the Universe. And, he is, to Midorima. Kuroko is the Shadow that instilled passion and love for basketball into him once again. He is also the discreet young man that colored his life and made him, the normally serious Midorima Shintarou, blush like mad. Kuroko is a miracle, the gift that keeps on giving, the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, and Midorima feels immensely lucky to have been given this chance.

“I promise,” he pledges in between kisses, “to cherish you. And appreciate you. Always. _Always_.”

And though Kuroko says nothing, Midorima feels Kuroko will hold him to it.

* * *

DAYS LATER

“I see the ship has finally sailed. Congratulations, lovebirds,” Takao winks, evidently happy for the new couple. “When should I expect to be Best Man at your wedding?”

“ _Takao_ ,” Midorima warns, but is distracted by a hand suddenly squeezing his own.

“Thank you, Takao-kun. It is due to your help that this came to be, and for that we are grateful.” Kuroko bows, Midorima reluctantly following suit.

The Hawk-Eye user dismisses the words of thanks with a wave. “Nah, don’t sweat it. You two just needed to be put on the right path. I’m just glad I could be of service.”

“Kurokocchi!” A sudden wail is heard in the distance.

“No one turn around. If you avoid eye contact, he will just pass us by and go away,” Kuroko says seriously. “He will leave, and –”

“Kurokocchi!” is the only warning they receive before Kise practically flings himself at Kuroko, embracing the phantom player like a particularly clingy octopus.

“Kise-kun, get off,” is the only warning Kise receives before a bony elbow jabs him in the gut.

No one is impressed by the ensuing crocodile tears and accompanying cry of “ _Kurokocchi_!”

“What is it this time, Kise?” Midorima cuts to the chase, rubbing his temples in an attempt to ward off the headache he feels is oncoming.

The tears are gone, betrayal taking place on Kise’s face instead. “You two are dating –” he points an accusing finger toward Midorima and Kuroko, “– and you didn’t even tell me! I had to find out like some common sewer rat.”

“At the very least, Kise-kun would be a handsome sewer rat,” Kuroko nods sagely, prompting Kise into another round of fake tears.

Concurrently, Midorima’s patience is quickly dwindling. “How did you find out? Who told you?”

Kise quickly recovers once more, snapping his fingers, “Ah, right! Well, Kagamicchi accidentally told Aominecchi, who was then threatened by Momoicchi, and so from there Momoicchi told me.” He then throws his fists aloft, as if to curse the unfairness of it all, “Even Murasakibaracchi and Akashicchi found out before me, and they’re not even in Tokyo!”

Not feeling the least bit remorseful, Midorima sighs. “I see.” He should have known this sort of development would spread like wildfire amongst their group.

Kuroko, on the other hand, shrugs his shoulders as if to say, ‘it cannot be helped’.

Takao, having remained silent until then, bursts into loud belly-shaking laughter, clearly amused.

No one points out that Kise, also, lives outside of Tokyo.

“Ah, Aominecchi and the others say congratulations, by the way.”

Midorima clucks disapprovingly when Takao merely laughs harder, hunched over like his stomach is about to burst.

Kise, still upset and ever the crybaby, bursts into a fresh bout of tears.

Midorima, not for the first time, wishes for new friends.

* * *

It is while Kise and Midorima are arguing that Takao slides to Kuroko’s side.

“So, you and Shin-chan, huh?”

Kuroko keeps his eyes on his former teammates while answering, “Yes.”

“What changed your mind?”

Kuroko blinks, turning to look Takao in the eyes. “I suppose I have always regarded Midorima-kun as special. He is level-headed, just, and inherently kind in his own way, and I admire that about him. Though, before I could act on these feelings, I needed him to change. Back at Teikō, he became such a cold, arrogant individual, like a shell of his former self. He… rather, _they_ all felt like strangers by our third year.” He sends a brief glance to the still-arguing Midorima and Kise, and fondly smiles. “Things are decidedly different now, and I am most glad for it. Since this is the case, I decided to take a chance on him, on us.”

Takao shakes his head with a chuckle, mirth and relief swimming in his grey gaze. “About time.”

Minutes later, after Kuroko successfully threatens his former teammates into making peace with each other, Takao, from the sidelines, repeats softly to himself, “Yup. S’about time.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I thought long and hard about what I should name this fic. Then I thought of the expression ‘to leave no stone unturned’, and I experienced one of those eureka moments. Midorima is exactly the type of person that always does everything he can to generate the best possible outcome and/or solve a problem (except when it comes to looove~, poor guy), and so the title stems from that. Since I named my other KnB fic using Murasakibara’s hair color, I thought I’d do the same with dearest Midorima.
> 
> Lots of love,
> 
> ~SHnM


End file.
